


Love wisely, my brother, and well

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: The Great Nargothrond Threesome Project [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousin Incest, M/M, Multi, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:52:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2034453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orodreth entreats Finrod to stay; Curufin...helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love wisely, my brother, and well

Orodreth’s brother, known for his wisdom in so many matters, had never been wise in love. 

He had loved gentle Amarië, who had told him she could not follow, would not follow, but whom he loved all the same. He turned her, in his memories, into a woman she never was, could never be; a dream woman, a woman of gold and glass who could never be replaced. And so, with such an untouchable memory standing guard, he never again loved a woman. 

He loved the Man, Bëor, dearly but unwisely. For the lives of men are short and brutish, as they say, and he could only watch as his beloved turned wasted and grey and fell away from the earth, leaving him only with a silvering memory and a fatal promise. 

Then there was his third love, his last love, though he would not call it so. Love it nevertheless was, for the sly, dark son of Fëanor, their silver-tongued cousin, the cold and beautiful Curufin, who stripped his brother’s heart into threads that he wound around his fist. 

Orodreth heard them, in the darkness, and knew their love was of the bitter, hungry kind, all sharp words and harsh touches. But at the end, when his brother was gasping, and whispering, “Please, I need – I need you,  _oh_ , Curufinwë,” and his lover murmured back, “I know,” and it made him ache, the sharp-edged love in their voices. 

He thought of them, at night, and feared for his brother; and feared more for himself, because he couldn’t stop the images that played before his mind.  _Two figures, twined in bed; pressed against cold stone walls; wrapped around each other in the low light of the forge; against the high back of the throne. Black and gold; sharp teeth and warm skin; a smith’s strong hands, a king’s command._

 _Disaster_ , Orodreth thought, and touched himself in the darkness.

 

In the end, though, it wasn’t Finrod’s love of his cousin that brought his doom, but the long-dead love of a Man. Orodreth saw the anguish in his brother’s eyes as Beren knelt before him, could see the old tenderness rising as the man held forth the green stone ring, and could read the promise kept in every line of his brother’s body. 

Some sense told him to look to where Curufin and Celegorm stood, and he knew that Curufin had perceived all that he had. And his cousin’s hands were slowly curling into fists at his side. 

Finrod was going to go to certain death for love of the House of Bëor.

 

Orodreth sought his brother that night, desperate to talk him out of his folly, even though he lacked the persuasive tongue that his brother and sister wielded so well. He thought perhaps his sincerity, his desperation, his love could convince where careful words could not, and so he slipped to the king’s chambers that night, and was just about to knock at the great carved door when he realized it was ajar. 

And that someone else had had the same idea as he. 

“You fool, Ingoldo,” came the hard silk of Curufin’s voice. “Do you not see that this human manipulates you? He plays on your soft heart and tender feelings, and will lead you only to doom and false hope. I do not wish to see you fall to his persuasion.” 

There was a dark humor in Finrod’s voice as he replied. “You would be more convincing, cousin, if I did not know you were driven by more than an urge to keep me safe. You think I have not heard your people murmuring of your Oath?” 

“I speak to keep you from death,” said Curufin, and there was an urgency in his voice. “Do you think I care not for the worth of your life? Findaráto–” 

Finrod sighed, and Orodreth pressed close to the crack of the door. He could just see the corner of the great bed, and the two figures upon it. Curufin was sitting up amongst the tangled sheets, chest bare, hair loose and uncharacteristically disheveled, as if he’d been raking his fingers through it. Finrod was seated at the edge of the bed, wrapped in a light sleeping robe, and just now he was leaning forward to raise a hand to Curufin’s cheek.

“Dear one,” he murmured. “I know you too well for that.”

“You doubt the sincerity of my feelings?” 

“I doubt the sincerity of your words.” Finrod smiled, and pressed a kiss to Curufin’s bare shoulder. “You only call me by that name when you wish to persuade, wish to invoke nostalgia and tenderness,  _the old days_ …” 

Curufin pulled away. “So perceptive, King Felagund.” There was nothing tender in his voice, now. “And yet you fail to perceive the certain doom this mortal leads you to.” 

“He is right.” Orodreth stepped forward, into the room. Curufin’s eyes narrowed in familiar dislike and distrust, but Finrod only looked up at him, surprised. “I do not mean to intrude, but brother,” Orodreth crossed to the bed and knelt before Finrod, beseeching. “You must see that this is folly.” 

Finrod touched his cheek lightly. “You both act like I have a choice.” 

“You do!” They had spoken together, and glared at each other momentarily, before Orodreth went on, in a rush. 

“Findaráto, no one would be surprised if you told this human you could not abandon your kingdom for a vain hope. His quest is not yours, and a good king,” he dropped his eyes, embarrassed, “a good king would not abandon his people for such a venture with a stranger.” 

“He is not a stranger,” said Finrod quietly. 

“He is,” said Curufin. “You mistake him for his forbear, but  _you do not know him_ , Ingoldo. How many generations, how many experiences remove him from that old man you once loved?” The words were harsh, and his eyes glittered as he spoke. 

“I know him.” Finrod’s voice was still quiet, but insistent. “I have looked into his mind, and into his heart. I do not confuse him for the past, but I know his spirit is as true as Bëor’s.” He closed his eyes as he spoke the name, as if it was painful on his tongue, and Curufin bared his teeth. “And I have my Oath.” 

“To a mortal!” Curufin spat. “Such an oath is hardly binding.” 

“To one such as you, perhaps,” said Finrod, with sudden chill. “But not to me.” 

He gentled, then, and laid a hand on Curufin’s shoulder, and on Orodreth’s. “I thank you for your council, and your concern. But both are unnecessary.” 

“Brother,” Orodreth begged, and wrapped his arms around Finrod’s knees. “Please. I cannot lose another…” His voice broke, and he sank his head to Finrod’s lap. 

“Artaresto,” Finrod said, and it was he who was pleading now. “Do not–” 

“You see how he entreats you?” Curufin’s voice was almost gentle, and Orodreth heard a shifting of the bed as Curufin slid to the edge beside Finrod. A strong hand came down and stroked through his hair, and Orodreth knew it was not Finrod who touched him. “I know how hard it is to resist the pleas of a brother. We both know what it is to lose a brother…” 

“You have lost but one,” said Finrod sharply. “And that from your own folly.” 

“Do you not think that makes it a thousand times worse?” The hand moved from Orodreth’s hair to brush over his back, and someone bent to press a kiss to his temple. “And you make my point, Ingoldo. To lose one brother is heartbreak. Two, a tragedy beyond imagining. But for Artaresto to lose three…” He sighed, and his hand slid beneath Orodreth’s collar to caress the back of his neck. “How could you subject him to such agony?” 

“You do not know that I will die,” said Finrod, but there was pain in his words. 

“But I think that  _you_  do,” said Curufin, and Orodreth raised his head to see Curufin lean close, so that his lips almost brushed Finrod’s. “I think you know what fate awaits you if you go.” 

Finrod closed his eyes, shuddering. “I do not – What I see is not always what will come. There is never – ” 

“You see your death and yet you go anyway,” said Curufin. “It is a selfish and wasteful risk.” 

“Besides,” he went on, and his fingers slid to the front of Orodreth’s robes, beginning to free the clasp at his throat. “Do you truly want to leave your little brother alone with me?” And he kissed Finrod, even as he pulled loose the robes from Orodreth’s shoulders. 

And Orodreth, knowing nothing but his desperation, allowed himself to be laid bare. 

Breaking away from Finrod, Curufin tugged Orodreth up to the bed and seized his lips in a savage kiss. Orodreth took a sharp breath, but returned the kiss, his eyes fluttering closed at the unexpected rush of desire that surged through him. 

“Do you want this, little cousin?” Curufin murmured, and Orodreth, instead of answering, wrapped his arms around Curufin’s shoulders and pulled him close. 

“Ah,” breathed Curufin, and urged Orodreth back until his back hit something warm. 

Finrod. 

“Curvo,” said Finrod quietly, but Curufin ignored him, intent on devouring Orodreth’s neck. Orodreth let his head drop back against his brother’s chest, gasping under Curufin’s wicked tongue, and presently he felt Finrod’s arms come up and hold him. 

“Wait,” Finrod said, and Curufin pulled back, eyes glittering. Finrod bent over Orodreth’s shoulder, his golden hair falling like a curtain around them both, and laid his cheek alongside his brother’s. “ _Do_ you want this, Artaresto?” he asked, quietly, and Orodreth raised his eyes until their gazes locked. 

“Yes,” he whispered. “I want this. I want  _you_ , Findaráto – ”  _to stay, to remain with me, to protect me, to hold me in the warmth of your love –_ “I want you to know you have me.” 

And Finrod bent, and covered his lips in a kiss, as Curufin gave a satisfied growl of pleasure and began work on removing the rest of Orodreth’s clothes.

 

 _Perhaps_ , Orodreth thought, pressed between his cousin and his brother,  _it was not only Findaráto who loved unwisely._  

His grief and fear was now wound inextricably into tight pleasure and heat, and strong arms around him, and golden hair, his and his brother’s, wild across their shoulders, and Curufin’s irresistible force, moving deep inside him, and Finrod’s tempering kisses and caresses, and when he came, he didn’t know if the moan was his or theirs.

He lay back on the pillows and watched through half-shuttered eyes as Finrod pushed Curufin back, braced over his body and kissed him fiercely, possessively. And Curufin, who yielded to none, yielded to him, and wrapped his legs around Finrod’s waist and begged for  _more_  and  _deeper_  and  _harder._  

And Finrod whispered, “How beautiful you are, Curufinwë, and how cruel,” and Curufin laughed breathlessly and said, “How you love it,” and Finrod kissed him again and murmured, “Yes.”

 

They slept, the three of them, a tangle of limbs and bedclothes, Curufin’s arm thrown lazily over Orodreth’s waist, Finrod pressed tightly against Curufin’s back, his hand tangled in Orodreth’s hair. 

 _Perhaps now he will stay_ , Orodreth thought, hazily, as he drifted into sleep.

 

He awoke to voices, and for a moment, thought himself still asleep. There was one fewer warm body in the bed, and Curufin was sitting up, watching as Finrod dressed. 

“You always intended to leave,” he said, without heat. 

“Yes.” Finrod opened a drawer, searching for something. “And you never intended to persuade me otherwise.” 

Curufin didn’t deny it. His voice was cool, detached, with none of the night’s passion or urgency. “So last night…” 

“Consider it my farewell,” said Finrod, and he met Curufin’s eyes one last time, before they flickered to Orodreth. “Consider it a parting gift, my love.” 

“You leaving is gift enough,” said Curufin, and laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. I've gone with the version of Orodreth as Finrod's brother. Because I always forget that sometimes he's his nephew.


End file.
